Some embark on the journey for religious reasons, others for the challenge. I just wanted an adventure. In June last year I decided it was time to do something different and settled on cycling El Camino de Santiago, the historic pilgrimage in Spain.

For thousands of years, people have travelled hundreds of kilometres, all ending up at a town called Santiago de Compostella, in Galicia, north-west Spain. It is thought that the remains of St James are buried in the cathedral there, and so many pilgrims have touched a pillar inside that a groove has been worn into the stone.

Intrigued by the history and determined not to change my mind, the day after my decision I bought a book and a bike and convinced a Spanish friend to join me.

The next month was spent researching and reading about other people’s experiences, preparing the things we needed and getting used to the bike.

The first thing I noticed when I began my journey in Salamanca was the heat. After a couple of days, filled with aches and pains, it was tempting to have a lie-in. But we had to wake up early and take advantage of the cooler temperatures. We were never short of a few encouraging words: everyone that we passed en route wished us a "buen camino" – a good journey.

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At first, we tried to do 30 or 40 miles a day, but it was impossible to plan. Occasionally we were met by routes so steep that we had to push the bikes – a long and tiring process. Those were the only moments that I felt like giving up and even cried tears of frustration.

I didn’t have many punctures, but my friend had more than 20. We had a good repair kit and lots of spare tyres. Every time we had problems, someone would stop, ask if they could help or if we needed anything, which lifted our spirits immediately.

Sometimes we slept outside in parks – we had sleeping bags and were so tired we didn’t care where we were. I didn’t feel unsafe, maybe because I was with someone, but often because we were in small villages with friendly locals.

In the main towns there were refugios, accommodation for those on El Camino de Santiago. Often they would be full by the time we arrived, and many shut at 10pm – and we wanted to explore the town to which we had spent days travelling.

The route we followed, Via de la Plata, uses shells and yellow arrows to mark the way. We thought it would be more of an adventure not to buy a map and see if we could get there by just following them. Later, having gone six miles in the wrong direction in 38C heat, we decided that was a mistake.

We developed a few blisters and, after cycling six or seven hours, we felt sore. It hurt the most when we set off in the morning, but after our muscles warmed up, and we were distracted by the beautiful scenery, the aches and pains were forgotten.

We made a few friends along the way, but the possibility of talking and getting to know people was more difficult, because we weren’t on foot. Walking gives you more of a chance to take in the surroundings, more time to think and reflect. It is fascinating to see the variety of ages and nationalities mixing together, helping and encouraging one another.

I never expected to feel spiritual. We learnt that it is traditional to take a stone from where you are from, carry it with you on your journey, and leave it at specific points. It’s difficult not to feel moved when, along the way, you see piles of stones in various places.

My thoughts were with the thousands who have made the same journey – as far back as the 10th century.

At the beginning, I worried about keeping to schedule, and knowing when I could have a shower. But after a couple of days, I began to take things as they came. Sometimes we would come across a beautiful lake, and wash there. It didn’t make sense to be stressed.

To enjoy the journey, I had to stop trying to control it and take delight in the unexpected – in one village, a lady kindly offered to wash our clothes. That does not mean we were not well prepared: we always had plenty of water and emergency food. Ravioli from a tin became a delicacy.

I learnt lessons, often the hard way. One evening, I left a bag of food on the ground; by morning it was covered in ants. Another time, we left our bikes to go for a swim and came back to find that we no longer had lights or pedometer. The worst was waking up one morning to find three gigantic mosquito bites on my backside.

I read so many times that one should pack light. But I still took too many things. I used only a couple of T-shirts and pairs of shorts, and washed them in lakes and the refugios. The things we used every day boiled down to: our repair kit, a torch, sun cream, baby wipes, a penknife, our sleeping bags – and aluminium bottles that kept the water cool.

And by the time we ended our journey, some 10 days and 300 miles later, I was thoroughly sick of the sight of my bike.

But I had the most amazing sense of achievement. Next time, my camino will start from Seville, and this time, it will be on foot.

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